


I Blame it On the Crypts

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't see why it's so difficult to have a meeting somewhere comfortable for once; somewhere with chairs and warmth, and above all, somewhere dry."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Blame it On the Crypts

Lord Blackwood stared at the message. _I am terribly sorry, but I will be unable to attend our dinner tonight – Lord Coward._ Unable to attend? And without even an explanation? This… this would not do. He would have to go to Coward now and make quite sure he understood his place in these matters.

The woman who opened the door was speaking before she even saw him. "Lord Coward is not accepting any… oh. Milord."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am certain he will want to see me."

The woman flushed and was silent as she led him to the sitting room, a room he was well familiar with. The door opened onto a wave of stiflingly heat, and Coward looked up from where he was huddled on the sofa, wrapped in a heavy dressing gown. "Oh. I thought I sent a note."

Except it sounded more like "I thoud I send a node."

Blackwood blinked at him before he replied. "You did. But it explained nothing; I was curious." He noted the roaring fire, flushed face, and swollen eyes, and although it seemed obvious, he asked, "Are you ill?"

"Yes," Coward sniffed, and Coward glared at him. Him! "And it's all your fault."

"_My_ fault?"

"I don't see why it's so difficult to have a meeting somewhere comfortable for once; somewhere with chairs and warmth, and above all, somewhere dry."

He might have a point, Blackwood mused. Coward had looked particularly miserable after the last meeting. Coward sneezed, looking terribly affronted, and Blackwood barely managed to not laugh. He stepped forward.

"Shove over."

Coward eyed him warily, but folded his legs and shifted until part of the sofa was free. Blackwood sat, back against the high arm, and reached out to pull Coward towards him, settling Coward's back against his chest. Coward sighed and went limp, head falling back against Blackwood's shoulder. He gave into temptation and pressed a kiss to Coward's temple, who smiled, then sneezed violently. Blackwood can't prevent the huff of laughter that breaks free, and Coward glared at him with watering eyes.

"I hate being sick," he declared petulantly.

"Well then," Blackwood murmured into his hair. "We shall simply have to speed your recovery."

*

The next meeting is held in a richly appointed club meeting room. With a roaring fireplace.


End file.
